


All The Feeling I Have For You (Let It Come On Through)

by Lonely_Heart119



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Feelings Realization, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26282707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonely_Heart119/pseuds/Lonely_Heart119
Summary: It would be stupid, or unwise one might say, to pursue something like this. It's just a crush, after all. Fjord is content to stay firmly in the realm of reality, repel his own emotions if that's what it takes to quash these feelings.It doesn't work.(The Wildmother helps him out. Only a lot.)
Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Fjord
Comments: 16
Kudos: 145





	All The Feeling I Have For You (Let It Come On Through)

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place some time in the near, unspecified future after Travelercon. 
> 
> Also, quick note: I’ve basically completely erased any Fjord/Jester attraction in this narrative, and Fjord is written as gay here. Sorry about it. (I'm really not).
> 
> All other in-universe canon applies.

The day is hot in Rosohna. Hot and humid, as if the entire city were slowly submerging itself into a hot spring. Fjord wakes up with a generous portion of sweat between himself and the sheets he had kicked off during the night. He figures he must have gotten an hour of rest, and miserable rest at that. Again.

Even after a thorough wipedown with a cloth dunked in cold water, the ambient heat still clings to him in long strips, shortening his stride into an awkward pace as he tries to unstick himself in his pants as he walks.

He hopes the notion of working out is off the table. Foolish in hindsight. Of course Beau would relish the extra pain and challenge. She makes it clear at the breakfast table, spearing a sausage and a chunk of fluffy egg on her plate. Chewing noisily, she motions to him with her fork.

“We’re doing laps today.”

“We’re running? Outside?” Fjord winces. Beau grins.

“Oh yeah. Make sure to wear pants that breathe.”

Beside her, Caduceus has just settled into the seat at the head of the table, mug of steaming tea and mealy looking oat bar in front of him. The perk of one of his ears betrays his attention.

“That’s not the breathing I’m worried about.”

Beau is shaking her head, wearing her ‘ _whatever, it’s no big deal’_ face.

“Don’t worry man, I’ll teach you some dope monk breathing techniques.” And then she’s polishing off her meal and standing, looking expectant.

“Right now? Okay…” If Fjord were planning on finishing his frankly scrawny fruit and nut bowl, he might have put up more of a fight, but something about having Caduceus nearby is making him feel an indignant need to prove himself. Or a misfiring sense of bravery. Probably both.

“No, man. You gotta give the food some time to digest. I’ll find you later.” Then she’s out of the room, and Fjord can faintly hear the rapid _thunka_ - _thunk_ of her flying up the stairs. He sighs and scoops another spoonful of nuts into his mouth.

“It’s paying off, at least.” Caduceus says casually, between distributing careful cooling breaths into his raised teacup.

“What?”

“The exercise.”

Fjord feels himself flush and immediately berates himself for it. Caduceus is talking about his endurance in combat, or his battle prowess. Or something. He certainly isn’t commenting, _gods forbid_ , on the attractiveness of Fjord’s physique. 

He plays off how long it takes him to respond by chewing slower, almost fully dissolving the food in his mouth.

“I agree. Though I don’t see why we can’t, I don’t know, stay indoors and do these things?”

“You know Beau. Always the hard way.”

4 hours later, he’s finishing his final lap around the perimeter of the house, completing his fourth circuit of exercises including: crunches, planks, star jumps, and a particularly brutal set of pull-ups on a makeshift bar Beau had assembled using stacked barrels and leather straps.

She’s in the middle of her cooldown when Fjord nears and allows his legs to give out from under him. He distantly feels his body thump and hit the ground and if he passes out, vision darkening for just a few seconds, he welcomes the reprieve. 

He flops his head to the left, peering up at Beau twisting herself into a complicated stretch.

“Why did we do this?”

“The next time we’re running from some crazy fuckin’ snake people, or trudging through a goddamn zombie swamp, you’ll understand.”

She has a good point, so Fjord just grunts and rolls over. On his back, he stretches out and tries to focus on his breathing. The swirling purple clouds above loom as ominously as ever, and Fjord almost wishes the sun were out, _could_ come out, if only to feel the reassuring pressure of its presence on his skin.

Or _Her_ presence, he supposes. 

Beau’s ass is in the air now, one leg up off the ground.

“We should hot tub.”

Fjord can only nod.

His legs wobble only slightly as he throws one over the other into the steaming water, sinking deep to sit on the stone bench in the tub. Beau is floating face-up somewhere across from him and he takes the cue to close his eyes. The water hugs his body and his sore muscles seem to soak it in like a sponge. He can barely control how far his head tips back or how low his shoulders drop. 

In the dark, quiet warmth of the hot tub, Fjord falls asleep.

When he stirs, he’s alone and the water is barely lukewarm. It’s an odd sensation when he stands and the air hits his skin at the same temperature. But, he thinks gratefully, he doesn’t feel a half-second away from melting anymore.

Stepping out to find a clean towel to dry off with, he notices how light he feels. There’s no one around to see him, so he grins and doesn’t stifle the small laugh that escapes him. Napping had rocketed him forward in time to the best part of exercising; after the initial exhaustion but before the painful delayed muscle soreness of the day after was a glorious few hours wherein Fjord felt like he could do anything.

Beau had called it a high, but when he asked how it compared to other drugs she had only laughed and shook her head.

He tugs on pants and a light shirt now, bounds up the stairs to his room, whistling an airy tune all the while. Something jaunty he must have picked up at sea, he thinks. It occurs to him he has no idea what time it is, and he pries open the bolted shutter of his windows to see if he can spot anyone passing by the street or any of their neighbors.

No one. He hadn’t heard any of the Nein running around on his walk back to his room, either. Maybe it was the middle of the night. He stands in the upstairs hallway for a minute, tries to worry at his lip and hisses in pain as the dull point of his right tusk pushes into the skin there. 

Sometimes the damn things were more trouble than they were worth.

He looks at the closed door of Jester and Beau’s room. If it were midnight, he doesn’t think either of them would take kindly to him knocking. He was approaching his record for most days passed between provoking Beau into hitting him and doesn’t feel like breaking it over something not even the least bit comedic.

He walks downstairs to the quiet, dark entryway of the house. He peers into the training room, finding the far door split open and a sheet of soft candlelight peeking through it. Predictably, Caleb is sitting at his desk on the other side, hunched over some papers. He doesn’t look up, the movement of his quill pausing only a second.

“Hello, Fjord.”

“Hey, Caleb. Do you uh, know what time it is?”

“No,” he says simply. The room falls silent as Fjord feels his eyebrows raise on their own accord. Caleb tilts his head up at him, and there’s the tiniest gleam in his eye.

Wow. Caleb being playful. He must have also missed Catha crashing into Exandria as he slept.

“Well, could you give me your best educated guess, as a scholar?”

“I would guess it is around seven. Maybe seven oh nine exactly.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Veth completed work on a set of special firecrackers earlier today, and I think Jester and Beauregard accompanied her outside to test them.”

“The three of them together is concerning.” He remembers that they call themselves something, but the exact name escapes him. It definitely starts with a C. The Champions? Maybe.

“I trust them well enough for a short time. I could not go, I am caught up in transcribing a new spell. It is dunamantic in nature, and I am not used to the complexity of copying such magics.” Caleb gestures to the page in front of himself and Fjord can barely make out the complicated scrawlings of what looks like glyph work taking up the majority of the paper.

“Ah. Dunamancy, isn’t that Essek’s specialty?” He doesn’t mean anything negative by it, but Caleb’s expression shutters and he turns away from Fjord, back to his work. His next words are forceful, a little clipped.

“If you wish to berate me for my choice of engaging further with him, I am afraid Beauregard has beat you to it.”

“Caleb.” He waits for Caleb to pause in his writing again. “It doesn’t bother me that you’re learning from Essek. He has access to magic that is very powerful. If he’s freely giving it to you, teaching it to you no less, how could that be anything but good for us?”

Caleb visibly relaxes, looks a little abashed. 

“ _Ja_. That is what I think as well. Oh, by the way, Caduceus asked for you earlier. He should be in his tower.”

Fjord recognizes the end of a conversation when he hears it.

“Thanks, Caleb.” 

He says something in Zemnian that sounds like _kind team_ and then Fjord is backing out of the room.

When he reaches the rooftop, Caduceus’s tall frame comes into view as he stoops over the squat table in the middle of the space. The surface of it is full of crystals and teacups and small embroidered squares of fabric stacked on top of one another. In the time it takes Fjord’s eyes to glance down, Caduceus is already turned towards him.

“Hello, Fjord. You’re right on time.”

“Yeah, I guess I am. What exactly am I on time for?” He says, scratching the back of his head.

“Dinner, of course. I’m sorry I didn’t wake you. Beau…” Cad’s brow furrows into a shallow crease and his ears flick downward.

“It’s more than fine, I promise. I needed it bad. I haven’t been sleeping very well lately.” Caduceus’s posture relaxes a little, though he starts scanning Fjord from top to bottom.

 _Cleric-vision_ , Fjord had once called it jokingly, trying to lift the team’s spirits after a tough fight. Jester’s scrutinous gaze and firm pressure on the fresh bandage covering one of his open wounds were quick to silence him. 

In the present, Caduceus doesn’t comment. He steps to the side and sweeps his arm backwards.

“I set aside a couple portions for you,” he gestures to a metal pot Fjord hadn’t noticed before as well as a ceramic bowl. “I didn’t make a lot, and I wanted to make sure some was kept at least for you to try.”

Fjord is dropping to sit before Caduceus finishes his sentence, the mention of food lighting a match under the empty cauldron of his stomach.

“Thank you, Caduceus.” Fjord tries to pack his appreciation into the sentiment, he really does, but he considers how many more times he could say that phrase to the man before he felt it was enough. Probably a million. 

Right now, a delicious blend of smells hits his nose and he moves the cushion he’s sitting on a few inches forward.

Caduceus smiles and moves to sit cross-legged on the other side of the table. He reaches to remove the lid of the pot and ladle some of the contents, a hearty looking stew, into the bowl and Fjord reaches up to brush at his mouth in case he’s drooled and hasn’t noticed it.

“Gods, I’m starving.” His appetite allows him to ignore the slightly awkward position he’s in of eating while Caduceus watches him. 

“That was quite the workout today,” he says neutrally. Fjord appreciates not having to answer a question as he shovels spoonful after spoonful of broth and vegetables into his mouth. 

He makes an affirmative noise and talks with his mouth full anyway.

“Beau killed me. And I can’t imagine I’m anywhere close to her level.”

“I don’t think you need to compare yourself to her. Just to who you were the day before. Or, if you want to feel better, to me.” There’s a hint of teasing at the end there, and he puncuates it by lifting his arms slightly and looking down at himself. 

Compared to what Fjord has now seen of his family, he’s thin for a firbolg, sure, but Caduceus has never looked like anything other than Caduceus to him.

“There’s a lot more to might than just your physicality, though.”

“Now isn’t that true?” Caduceus smiles thoughtfully and Fjord feels delight ripple through his stomach, settling almost as warm as the stew. As often as wisdom pours from Caduceus, Fjord feels foolishness pour from himself, so Cad’s reassurance is a comfort.

They lapse into a light silence as Fjord finishes his food and Caduceus pours two cups of tea. The outside air is turning cool in the approach of evening, a blessing. Fjord notices, he thinks for the first time, the loose turquoise shawl wrapped around Caduceus’ shoulders.

“That’s new.” When Caduceus follows his line of sight, he chuckles.

“It is. Corrin wove it for me, with help from my mom probably. I’m taking any excuse I can to wear it, even if it’s not that cold out.”

Watching Caduceus run his fingers reverently over the handwoven stretch of blue fabric, Fjord forgets to be envious. Studying the sharp angles of Caduceus’ face, lit from the magical lanterns hanging above and around them in the branches of the tree, he feels nothing but affection.

“Can I…?” Fjord finds the words leaving him without permission, as if they had conspired to sneak out while he wasn’t paying attention. Suddenly aware of himself as well as Caduceus’s curious look, he presses his lips together hard. What _was_ he going to say?

_Can I kiss you?_

He might have died right then. Caught up in the mortification of that particular alternate universe, Fjord realizes he’s been silent for an inappropriate amount of time.

“Nevermind,” he finishes lamely, but Caduceus only nods.

Not for the first time, Fjord finds himself cursing the man’s natural inclination towards politeness. His heart seizes only a moment upon the realization that if Caduceus pressed him, even the littlest bit and about anything, he might fold open like a flower in the sun.

But the maddening uncertainty in his courtesy could have driven Fjord up the wall. And now he finds himself backsliding into familiar self loathing, into the endless wondering of why he was never able to make himself emotionally available until someone commanded him to do so.

“Fjord?” 

He thinks he must have been projecting his inner monologue; as soon as he relaxes his face, so does Caduceus.

“Can I stay up here?” He adds after a beat: “Tonight?”

As if he were asking to stay up here permanently. _Stupid._

“Of course. You’re always welcome here, Fjord. Everyone is.”

Something in his wording digs into Fjord, but he refuses to chase himself into another negative spiral tonight, especially when the rest of the day has been so good. He smiles back instead.

“Thank you.”

Caduceus clears the table, waving off Fjord’s first few attempts to help. As he stacks the bowl and silverware in the pot, he reconsiders.

“Actually, could you run this back down to the kitchen?”

An hour ago, when Fjord’s body was still cruising through his workout high, he felt like he could have run to Port Damali and back. But with the high fading and the food warming him, trotting up and down the stairs sounded horrendous.

Caduceus is looking at him, though, sweet and expectant and a little guilty.

“No problem.”

“I’ll set up the sleeping arrangements for us.” His face is imperturbable, as it usually is. But his ears flick upward quickly, a sharp snap and bounce.

He hopes it's happiness. Or contentment. Something good, at least.

~

Even though he spends the night ostensibly outside, Fjord awakens feeling much cooler than he had in his own room. Caduceus’s mattress is pressed into the wide trunk of the rooftop tree and the massive outreach of its branches surround him and project a feeling of notable protection. And though he knows Caduceus wouldn't give it an afterthought, he’s relieved he hasn’t sweat through the few colorful, mismatched blankets beneath them.

Or, gods forbid, had a nightmare. He can imagine it almost too well: waking to his own voice already hoarse from screaming, his body halfway onto the floor from flailing at an invisible threat. Caduceus would be too nice, would probably offer him a cup of tea that had no right to be that delicious while still being tea, all the while expertly hiding a piteous expression and waning opinion of him.

Yes, at least _that_ hadn’t happened.

Sitting up is an ordeal, least of all for his core muscles. And as if that movement were tied to an alarm somewhere in his body, he becomes aware of a pervasive and painful soreness in his limbs, his chest, his back. It feels like his body is one big throbbing bruise.

“Oh, _fuck_.” Fjord, having taken in the empty spot beside him and slipping into the illusion that he was alone on the rooftop, says this very loud.

“Fjord?” The sound of steady footfalls approach as Caduceus comes into sight. He’s dressed in what Beau affectionately, insofar as much of anything she says can be called affectionate, dubbed his ‘plant-guy getup.’ That is to say, the dirtied plainclothes he wears to garden in.

Plain for Caduceus, anyway. The billowing white silk shirt and loose burgundy pants may be stained and worn in places, but they somehow still evoke a sense of rustic refinement that never seems to part from the man. A large-brimmed sun hat rests on his head, flattening his hair to his temples.

“Don’t let Veth see you wearing that,” Fjord says, to let Caduceus know he’s okay and also to make him smile. The woman had been all but outraged at the idea of wearing sun-protective clothing in a part of the world where the sun was nowhere to be seen.

“She’d have to see me first.” He’s stepping closer, shifting into the specific posture Fjord has noticed Caduceus reserves for when he’s the acting cleric of the group. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” Fjord admits, willing his face not to darken. He hasn’t tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed - let alone stand up and walk - but he can imagine the pain that would accompany it.

“I might have something for that.” And then he’s rounding the bed to dig into the large satchel that houses the majority of his physical medical supplies. It’s also home to the carved wooden box that keeps his tea making and serving materials, but Fjord supposes Caduceus would consider them one and the same. 

He digs around, occasionally pulling out unlabeled jars, bundles of various herbs, and a few distinct instruments Fjord can’t place.

Then Caduceus sits on the mattress next to him, pressing a thigh into his own and settling in the meeting of the fabric of their trousers a small metal tin.

“It’s a poultice, or a type of such,” he explains, unscrewing the top of the tin and revealing a mass of moist, green plant matter. He presses two fingers into the green material, swirling it around. 

“It helps with muscle inflammation.” His fingers come out, the tips of them tinged with forested color.

Fjord can feel himself staring. Caduceus holds out his hand and it hovers above Fjord’s arm.

“May I?”

Fjord nods. Caduceus grasps his elbow, tilting it outward to bring his arm closer. He begins to massage the poultice into his skin. The action is slow and gentle. When he finishes, the thin sheen of liquid catches the meager light filtering between the branches above. It’s almost like he’s rolled himself in some of Jester’s glitterful eye makeup.

“See if that works. Usually, you would need to heat something like this over a fire, but the heat your body produces should be enough. You run the warmest out of all of us, so.”

“I do?” Fjord knows exactly from where the temperature of his blood comes from, has even heard variations of what Caduceus said many times over. But something in him wants to keep Caduceus talking, keep him sitting so close. Right now, his eyes take on an almost admonishing glint.

“I don’t know if you thank your body enough, Fjord. For what it gives you and what it’s gotten you through. It serves you without complaint, even the parts of it you don’t like.”

Fjord doesn’t really know what to say to that. If there is anything to say. He feels exposed in a way he’s very unused to.

“How’s it feeling?” Caduceus asks. The lingering ache in his left bicep has faded into a dull tingling and he can mercifully flex it without pain.

“Good, now. How much of this can I use?”

“All of it, if you need to.” Caduceus pats Fjord’s knee once, twice. It lingers there for a second. Like last night, something embarrassing is urging itself against his lips again, trying to escape.

He doesn’t let it. 

Caduceus stands, beginning to wind his way back to the large set of earthen patches and pots that constitute his garden.

“I’m sorry,” Fjord calls after him, stopping him in his tracks and causing him to look over his shoulder, “I haven’t wanted to meditate lately. I would like to tonight, though.” 

Fjord watches his ears perk.

“That sounds great.” And although he’s said everything he could reasonably be expected to say, Fjord keeps talking.

“Thank you, Caduceus.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” 

Fjord lets out a gusty breath. “I don’t just mean about the medicine.”

There’s an affectation to Caduceus' voice when he replies, and Fjord knows he’s smiling.

“I know.”

~

Fjord commandeers the kitchen island for the rest of the day. He had promised himself far too long ago that he would clean his armor given the first opportunity. When that had passed, it seemed the second, third and fourth were quick to follow.

When he could pinpoint the location of his armor by smell alone, he figures it’s more than due.

One hour turns into three, and swiftly then into five as his cleaning turns more into cataloging, broken up by periods of distraction. At around noon, Frumpkin wanders into the kitchen and jumps nimbly to wash himself amongst the piecemeal of Fjord’s armor. It takes a few minutes to shoo him away and a complete half hour of sitting outside to alleviate the itching in Fjord’s nose.

At two, he takes a break to make himself an unsatisfying sandwich composed of two chunks of slightly stale bread and a few slices of dubious meat from an insulated wooden box filled with ice in the corner of their kitchen.

When he gets to it, there’s ample enough to do. There are tears, small gaps in the leather of his pauldrons. There are dents, malformations to the metal of his vambraces, which he unstraps from their sleeves while decidedly not thinking about the fight that put them there.

The buckle on his outermost belt is ragged in its locking mechanism, so he separates and puts it aside. He unfolds the flexible covering that usually protects his legs, noting in what places the mix of alloy and fabric is wearing thin, and where a number of studs have fallen out completely.

His cloak, boots, and line of thick, red cord are filthy beyond measure. He cuts himself some slack; trudging through the muck of a half-trodden pathway in the farthest recesses of wilderness, covered in a sick sort of viscera from whatever they’d most recently gone to battle with, warm bed and bath miles away…

...it really wasn’t noticeable. Especially when the rest of the party was in equal or worse straits. But now, Fjord roots around in the cellar for a wooden tub and spotting one, drags it to the kitchen to pump it full of water.

As he strains his back lifting the tub onto the flat plane of the wood-powered oven, he wonders whether it would have been easier to just find and bother Caleb for this. He, Fjord, and Caduceus had opted out of a group shopping trip for the day. 

Tossing a match into the grate of the oven, Fjord thinks if the rest of Nein weren’t back at this point that he definitely made the right choice.

He’s poking the mishmash of soaked fabric to and fro in the rapidly heating water with the broken leg of a wooden stool he had found in the cellar when he hears footsteps. They descend the stairs and wind their way around to the kitchen.

Caduceus stops in the doorway to peer at him.

“Oh. Hello, Fjord.” He’s not in his gardening outfit anymore. Instead, he’s sporting a long silk tunic the color of sea foam, and loose white pants the fabric of which almost grazes the floor as he stands. He must have recently washed his hair as the waves of it lay rosy and shiny against his shoulders.

“Hey. Caduceus,” Fjord manages after a beat, sounding strange and stuttered to himself. What was close, terribly close, to falling out of his mouth was something along the lines of _you look really nice_ , but Fjord felt that condemning Caduceus to clean up the remnants of his body when he died of embarrassment wasn’t a fair imposition.

“That’s a smart idea.”

“What?” 

Caduceus quirks his head at him.

“Cleaning your armor yourself? I think it’s wise.”

“Oh. Yes, well, I suppose it’s just habit. Paying someone else to do this seems almost too, I don’t know.” He grasps around for the right word. “Personal? Too luxurious, maybe.”

Caduceus arches an eyebrow, stepping over to the end of the counter and rolling a few potato-like vegetables out of a basket underneath his arm. Had he come down here holding a basket? Fjord hadn’t noticed.

“Almost as luxurious as a spa day?”

Fjord could sputter. He thinks he actually does a little. He starts and aborts a few sentences before Caduceus is chuckling and smiling at him.

“That sounded like an accusation. I meant it the opposite way, actually.” Then Caduceus is stepping closer to him, until they’re standing shoulder to shoulder (or shoulder to mid-arm area), watching the now bubbling water toss Fjord’s armor back and forth.

“The money that I have right now,” he continues in a soft voice, “I’ve never seen that much of it in my entire life.” Fjord can relate, but he thinks Caduceus already knows that. He also thinks that’s why he’s choosing to say this to him and not Jester or Beau. Fjord makes a small noise to bid him to continue.

“I still find myself turning down things, offers. I’m still hesitant. It always feels like…”

“...there’s something more important,” Fjord finishes. Caduceus is looking down at him, his expression only slightly tragic.

“Yeah.”

And then they’re just watching each other, and Fjord is close enough to see the dark magenta flecks of pigment that line Caduceus’s pupils. His heart does something funny in his chest so he clears his throat and picks up his chair-leg-stirring-stick again. Caduceus glides back in front of the counter and if he’s affected in the same way Fjord is he doesn’t show it.

After a few moments of tense, not necessarily uncomfortable silence, Caduceus visibly jerks, back straightening. His ears twitch wildly for a second before he seems to compose himself.

“Caduceus?”

“Jester wants me to know that they’re on their way home. She also wants to know what I’m making for dinner. And something else, but she was cut off.” He speaks with mirth and affection.

“Sounds like Jester. What _are_ we having for dinner, you know, now that we’re talking about it?” He tries to sound casual, but Caduceus is already laughing, grabbing a pot and a cutting board as he does.

~

Though his armor is for all intents and purposes cleaner than a spring of holy water, the dirt had been concealing a number of dullened spots in the metal, in some places even touches of rust. It frustrates him, so he leaves the disassembled pieces to deal with tomorrow.

Hours later, as he sits down for dinner with the rest of the Nein and listens to the trials and tribulations of their shopping trip, he thinks with no short amount of cynicism that he’ll probably have to get it looked over by a smith anyway.

~

The day hasn’t been nearly as hot as yesterday, and Fjord almost feels chilly in the evening breeze that threads through the branches of the tree atop the tower. He hasn’t meditated with Caduceus while they’ve been at the Xhorhaus so far and he’s surprised at how comprehensive Caduceus’s setup already is.

They’re sitting cross-legged on two plush cushions, facing one another. Surrounding them are dozens of candles, varying in size and color and in some cases smell. Small gems that resemble the leaves or bark of a tree are clustered in groups of two or three, as well as actual leaves and twigs from the local flora surrounding the house. 

Next to his right leg is a simple goblet of sweet wine surrounded by bowls of various spices, some of which make Fjord’s nose tingle if he gets too close. 

Fragrant incense is burning in a holder carved intricately to resemble a mermaid, one of Fjord’s admittedly small contributions to this space.

Caduceus lights the last candle, placing it gently down and shifting to get comfortable.

“Are you ready?” He asks. Fjord makes an uneasy affirmative noise and Caduceus smiles knowingly.

“Do you want me to lead?” To this Fjord makes another, relieved noise and Caduceus chuckles. He starts a simple prayer, beginning at a low but still audible murmur. He closes his eyes and Fjord follows, trying to breathe deeply and rhythmically.

The times he’s done this with Caduceus are always a treat. He would even say spiritually fruitful to a degree. He’d lose himself in the rumbling of Caduceus’s prayer, unconsciously turning his face to what feels like a singular beam of light falling solely over the two of them. 

The tension in his body would release, the thoughts in his head turning to mist and shimmying out of his ears and eyes to leave his head pleasantly, calmly blank.

That’s what usually happens, at least. This time, when the sensation of sunlight hits Fjord’s closed eyelids, the next inhale he takes is tinged with a peculiar smell as if the air has shifted on its axis to an entirely different biome. 

A sound, too far off to make out the exact details of, catches his attention. He tries to focus on it, finding that he can also hear the chirping calls of several birds mixing with the dull drone of what must be insects. He feels a warm breeze, much warmer than any previous that night.

He realizes belatedly that Caduceus has stopped praying. Usually, he wouldn’t open his eyes until Caduceus gently shook him out of his trance at the end of their session, but something urges him to look now. He blinks against the strange, still shining light.

 _Holy shit_. 

He must be dead. His brain must have decided to quit right then and he must be out cold with his ass still on the cushion. There’s no other explanation for seeing what he’s seeing. There’s no breath in his lungs but the burning in his chest is secondary in every way.

He’s in a forest. Or, surrounded by trees at least. Thousands of them on all sides, all extending far beyond what he can see. Their bark is smooth, though it looks like someone had carved long, individual lines on each and filled the grooves with glowing, emerald hued paint.

The sound of wildlife is pervasive, but not invasive. He doesn’t so much as feel a bug bite, or see the birds making their calls to one another. The symphony of animal noises blends harmoniously with itself, with the natural hum of the forest; it creates a permanent, pleasant hum in the base of his skull.

In front of him is a lake. At a glance the surface looks glassy as if it’s covered in a thin sheet of ice. But upon inspection the water is simply smooth, mirror still.

He’s sitting on a moss covered bank, though it feels more like a perfectly plump down pillow. It’s beautifully soft, delightful to touch, to run his fingers through.

He can see the sky is a deep reddish-yellow, dotted with fat, pockmarked clouds. He realizes that he can’t make out what time it is. Depending on where he’s looking, the area seems to alternate infinitely quickly between night and day as if in this place they somehow exist at the same time.

The air feels fresh against his skin, cleansing in his lungs. He stands and strips his clothes off, wading into the water until he’s waist deep. It’s blessedly cool - not cold - against his skin and he sinks up to his shoulders.

He feels like he’s home. Like he should be here. Like he _belongs_. There are a few errant thoughts that wander into his head: about where he was before this, _who_ he was before this, but it’s easy to dismiss them in favor of diving deep into the strange but enticing mirror-water.

It’s clear as polished diamond beneath the surface and he can see the smooth sandy, rocky bottom. He doesn’t think about how he knows he can breathe underwater, simply inhales deeply and sinks down. The way his body cuts through the water, glides like an infinitely sharp knife through flesh is uncanny. He’s reminded of something, a distant and vague memory of floating through an empty space towards an impossibly large mouth, but it’s quickly forgotten.

He sits cross-legged at the bottom, closing his eyes. There’s a peace within him, something all encompassing. Something frighteningly, estactically eternal.

He stays there for what could be minutes. Hours. Years. Time seemed to happen all at once in this place. Or maybe it didn’t happen at all, stayed suspended like a bug in amber. Maybe this place - this realm - existed outside of time itself.

Fjord rises, breaks the surface without causing so much as a ripple. The sun on him feels a little warmer now, though it’s by no means uncomfortable. He looks to the sky to see if he can spot it out of his periphery, but he can’t. The air is thicker now, hazier and fuller than before. For the first time since he’s been in this place he feels someone else’s presence.

It’s odd, as if he’s not alone in his head anymore, as if he’s thinking but the thoughts aren’t his own. 

He knows in an instant it’s Her. She fills his mind with images of lush jungles and expansive oceans and an endless swirl of excited animal chattering. 

The sensations coalesce into a set of rapidly flickering, shifting visions. It settles on one, and Fjord knows that this is something vitally important in the same way he knows where his arms and legs are on the map of his own body.

She wants to show him something. She wants him to pay attention. _I’m listening_ , he thinks desperately. 

_Faith_. The word rings and echoes through his mind like the toll of a thousand bells. He sees the lighthouse in Nicodranas, the one with the enormous, enrapturing statue of the Wildmother clinging to the side and casting her wise, wild eyes on the waters of the harbor. The breadth of lives She’s saved from dashing to bits against the jagged coastline is too great to comprehend. 

Gnarled hands pass across a smooth, quartz surface and the vision changes. 

_Recovery._ He sees a windowless stone building adorned with a tall steeple. It’s surrounded by thick pools of algae covered water and hundreds of twirling, twisting vines and thick trunked trees. Surrounding this building, this temple, are hundreds of stone markers. Gravestones. The sight should chill him, make that familiar eerie feeling rise and clutch at his chest. But he only feels respect and affection for this place, strangely familiar as it is.

 _Cherish_. He’s looking at the counter in the kitchen of their house in Xhorhas. It’s filled with pungent smelling, oddly shaped fruits and thick, oblong tubers of brown and gray. A nearby kettle, beautiful and ornate in design whistles turquoise steam. Somewhere a hearth is burning and the room is enveloped in a snug coziness. This scene anywhere else would usually make Fjord’s stomach twist with longing. 

He sees Caduceus standing at the counter, bent over something and seemingly focused. He’s holding a familiar metal vambrace, passing over it with a small white cloth. The sharp scent of vinegar lingers in the air. 

Fjord realizes he has no idea if these images are merely snapshots of past and present reality, or if they’re alternate universes, possible outcomes…

He’s back in the lake again. When he levels his gaze, he notices that the water is now a startling shade of pink. He drags his hand through it like he might the silken material of a fine tunic and curiously watches how the color of the water plays against the green of his hand and black of his claws.

He wishes Caduceus was here.

He’s taken aback by how badly he wishes Caduceus was here. To share in this transcendent experience with him.

The air around him suddenly feels much thinner than before, and he can feel a dull burn in his thighs from having to tread water for so long. Something prickles uncomfortably on his scalp and he presses his palms to his closed eyes to try to rid himself of the feeling.

When he opens them, he’s back. Caduceus is still in front of him, eyes still closed. He’s lapsed into silence, though how long ago he stopped his low prayer is unknown.

Fjord comes back to his own body all at once. He promptly tumbles backwards, catching himself on the stone with his hands. Caduceus’s eyes shoot open and he must see something concerning on Fjord’s face because he’s moving forward and saying something.

“What?” Fjord says, though it comes out more like _whah_? He has no words for what he’s experiencing right now, nothing to compare it to. It’s like waking from a dream to the millionth degree.

Almost like he’s emerged from the seaweed again. But that was different; his skin had felt fresher and tighter, muscles stronger.

This time, it was his mind. How his eyes see and his soul feels. Everything newer, sharper, more exciting. 

It should be disconcerting how unconcerned he is about it. Caduceus is leaning over him now, looking too worried. He grins to show he’s okay, delights in how good it feels to grin (did it always feel this good?), but he thinks it might come off as dopey.

Caduceus is even closer now. Has the fur on his face always looked so _soft_? Or his eyes so expressive and familiar? He places his hand on Fjord’s shoulder and its warmth encompasses it entirely.

“Are you okay?” The words radiate from where they’re connected and Fjord can feel the deep rumble in every one of his bones. 

“I’m great, I’m great…” He thinks Caduceus’s face is getting closer, notices that it’s his own drifting forward and that the breath in what he’s saying is fluttering against the gray of his cheek.

In this moment, Fjord has no idea what was holding him back from this before. It seems as simple and as natural as blinking to touch his lips to Caduceus’s.

It’s soft. Warm. Wonderful.

When he pulls back, he can see how wide Caduceus’s eyes are, filled with an emotion he’s never seen before on the man. 

He suddenly feels worried for Caduceus’s reaction, the euphoric feeling beginning to wane. Something in his internal biology must still be playing catch-up, because the next words that leave his mouth are close to being completely unrelated.

“Did you fix my armor?” The surprised, bewildered expression on Caduceus’s face doesn’t fade, but his ears pull downwards and he looks away. A blush peeks through his fur. It makes Fjord’s heart do a flip.

“I did. I hope you don’t mind. Can you explain what’s going on?”

“I went somewhere. Not just, in my mind, I _was_ somewhere else. I heard Her. She spoke to me, showed me things…” Finally, Caduceus’s expression relaxes, even morphs into something bordering on conspiratorial.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

You’ve done it before?” He belatedly thinks that it would be ridiculous for one of Her most devoted clerics to have not experienced something like that and he internally winces. He hopes he didn’t sound too astounded, in that case.

But Caduceus has always been able to read his tone, to know what he’s really trying to get across.

“When I lived alone in the Blooming Grove, I meditated a lot. I think at the peak of my loneliness there, Melora allowed me an escape of sorts. Not all the time, but if I needed guidance about a particular problem I was having, or just a break from my own thoughts and duties, She was there.”

Fjord has a million questions and they almost start to tumble out, but he stops himself. His boldness from earlier has retreated, leaving him with the facts: he kissed Caduceus. If he doesn’t address it now - and he knows this of himself - it’ll become one of those things he never brings up, possibly even to himself.

“I should have asked before I kissed you. I’m sorry.” It seems as good a place to start as any.

“That’s fine. Melora’s influence can be powerful.”

No. Oh no. Is Caduceus giving Fjord an out? Is he, gods forbid, letting him down gently? Both? A nauseous feeling roils his stomach at the thought that this really might be the last conversation they have about it. 

Signed, sealed, done, never talk about the kiss again. He finds the thought unpalatable, nearly unbearable. The tail end of his bold streak from earlier must still be running its course through his body as he sits up straighter.

“Actually, I’ve wanted to do that for a while.” He doesn’t know how he manages to meet the man’s eyes while he says it, but he does. Caduceus fixes him with a puzzled look.

“I don’t understand.” The pure confusion sweetening his expression somehow makes replying easier and harder at the same time. Fjord doesn’t let himself overthink, just says.

“I don’t just think of you as a close friend, or as a family member. I’m interested in you.” Fjord’s hope at getting away with saying only that much is dashed at the sight of Caduceus’s remaining confusion. 

In fact, he looks more lost than before. Fjord clenches his jaw hard for a second, decides to just spit it out.

“Romantically. As in a relationship.” It takes a moment, and what an agonizing moment it is, but something akin to realization dawns on Caduceus’s face, intermingled with surprise and... amusement? Fjord can feel his heart start to crack, but then Caduceus is talking.

“Is that what that is?”

“What?” Fjord’s mouth feels so dry. He thinks this conversation is what he deserves for worrying Caduceus earlier, taking so long to get out what was actually going on.

“You’ve always been a little different to me. At first I thought it was because of our shared connection to the Wildmother and how our paths had crossed as they did. But, I’ve never experienced something like that with any other follower I’ve met.”

Fjord hardly dares to breathe. Caduceus is speaking so casually, as if he were commenting on the current temperature and not pressing a _Healing Word_ into the chipped sections of his beating heart.

“I couldn’t figure it out,” he continues, “why I was considering you more than anyone else. Why I found myself wanting your opinion so often. Why I like doing things for you, even if it’s something you might never notice.”

Fjord certainly isn’t breathing now. He wishes not for the first time he had Caleb’s brain, to commit everything about this moment to memory.

“I thought I knew what love was. I love my parents, my siblings. I love the Mighty Nein and the good we’ve done in the world so far. I love catmint and juniper, and making tea. I love Melora and everything She’s given to me.” He’s looking at Fjord meaningfully now and it’s almost too much. 

And then he’s moving forward to bring himself closer and that’s definitely too much. Even the simple scent of clean soap lingering in his fur feels decadent. And he’s _still_ talking. 

Fjord might combust.

“I guess what I’m saying is, I’m interested too. I think. This is a new feeling for me and I’m not sure how it’s supposed to go from here.” He looks so calm and relieved and precious in every single way it’s hard for Fjord to not move closer again. He lets Caduceus’s words settle in his mind instead.

“To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure either. I just know I want to be close to you.” Unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth to say this garbles the sentence enough, and the ruddy brown blush blazing across his face must serve as an obvious indicator of his emotions. 

Caduceus smiles at him and it feels like the sun.

“We can do that.”

~

When they crawl into bed together later, Fjord pauses close to Caduceus on his hands and knees. He’s never been a cuddler, but he thinks he’s still riding the high of his interdimensional excursion and it’s making him feel more open, more connected to his body.

He pantomimes what he thinks is an accurate enough portrayal of what he wants to Caduceus, forgetting to feel embarrassed about it in the moment.

“Is that okay?”

Caduceus genuinely takes a moment to consider it. The level of thoughtfulness he consistently brings to their interactions only endears him to Fjord further.

“Yeah,” he concludes, opening his arms to receive Fjord’s body against his own.

Caduceus may be slim, but there’s still a lot of him. For the first time, Fjord feels dwarfed by his bed partner. And _gods_ , his arm nearly wraps entirely around Fjord’s torso to touch back on itself.

He’s so _warm_ , too. Of course he would be, on account of his entire body being covered in a fine sheet of fur, but still. Fjord leaves the blanket where it’s been pushed at the foot of the bed.

It takes a fair amount of shifting for the both of them to get comfortable, but when it happens, Fjord feels a sense of deep relaxation that has evaded him for weeks wash over his consciousness.

He feels sleepy. Not tired, but sleepy. His eyes want to close on their own accord and his brain is finally, finally quiet.

It’s divine.

It hits Fjord then, like a stone whipped at the surface of a pond, that being positioned so nicely against Caduceus like this is a dangerous thing. Enveloped in a thick and heady sense of comfort...

...he might never want to leave.

**Author's Note:**

> this was titled “wildbrothers origin story” in my drafts
> 
> to be continued. maybe some real romancin’ next time? im always in my fjorclay feelings. he called him a miracle you guys
> 
> title is from how deep is your love by the rapture please listen for some sweet teahaw goodness
> 
> thanks for reading. comments and kudos make me feel alive. love you goodbye


End file.
